born in blood
by escapedreality
Summary: They were loyal and determined but sometimes that just isn't enough, this is war after all.
1. Fabian Prewett

**And so I'm rereading OotP and I decided that I must write something about the Order. (Actually, I say this a lot and never acually get around to it.. oops.) '****Chapters' (as I suppose you'd call them) will be varying lengths, this first one is rather short. **

**Fabian Prewett.**

Molly used to joke that we couldn't survive if we were separated. Maybe she should've take Divination at school, because dammit, she was right.

Dumbledore sent us out for a mission—top secret business you see. There supposedly wouldn't be _too_ much resistance.

Supposedly.

First there were two, just the two we were tracking. Simple enough, one on one.

A third joined and it was trickier, I stood back to back with my brother, each of us taking turns on the newcomer into the fray.

The damned Death Eaters alerted one another, be it by the stupid marks, I'll never know. I know though, that two more of them joined in. It was taken everything I had to avoid the green shots of light that one of them was sending flailing around. I made my shots quick and accurate.

A weight hit me heavily from behind. One thought raced through my brain at first; convincing me someone had thrown themselves at me.

But I turned around and kept my back to the wall and at my feet didn't lay a masked figure. His face was unmasked, bruised, bloody and oh, so like my own.

A strangled sort of yelp escaped my throat.

I lashed out, abandoning any pretense of thoughtfulness. My own curses flew around carelessly and I was so consumed by my own anger that I allowed that one beam of green light to find me.

Molly used to joke that we couldn't survive if we were separated.

**Thoughts?**


	2. Remus Lupin

**This turned out significantly different than I had originally intended. But I think I still like it :) Also, I realize A****melia Bones was not in the Order but for this story she joined after her brother's death. Alright? Alright.**

**Remus Lupin.**

The young twenty-two year old slammed down a bottle on the table.

Loud.

_Ogden's Best Firewhiskey_ it read, joining two other empty bottles occupying the table.

He got up and staggered over to a sofa that was severely damaged. He slumped down and clenched his eyes shut for a moment, secretly wishing he would just die in his sleep at some point.

Outside the tiny flat, excited voices of little muggle children were to be heard as they scampered up and down the hall, door to door, in hopes of collecting mass amounts of candy.

Remus had half a mind to go out and hex them or something to just shut. them. up. But even in its fuzzy state, his brain told him that hexing muggle children was not the best course of action. A better idea, he decided, would be to walk over to the cabinet to check if there was more firewhiskey.

(Even though he knew there wasn't.)

He leaned against the empty cabinet, staring expressionlessly out the window. A gleam of light from bustling London glinted off a framed photo hanging on the wall.

Four students in their final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Two had dark black hair (though one was an untamable mess.) One with blond hair in an unfortunate pudding bowl haircut. The last had brown curls. It had been taken on a gorgeous day by a pretty redhead who was now…

Dead.

In two short strides, Remus ripped the frame from the wall and smashed it down against the table that held the empty firewhiskey bottles. The glass from the frame broke and shattered. Ignoring the shards he picked out the photo. Its subjects were waving merrily at him.

Anger bubbled up inside him and spilled over in something between a yell and a sob. He sank to the floor despairingly, holding the photograph tightly.

James. Lily. Peter.

Dead.

Sirius…

Remus ripped the picture viciously, over and over again until there were only little pieces left that fluttered slowly to the ground. And the lone Marauder buried his face in his hands and sobbed.

* * *

A knock sounded at the door.

It was ignored.

Another knock, followed by a voice.

"Remus, it's Amelia! I have a message from Dumbledore!"

No response.

"Remus! Remus? Remus, c'mon I know you're there."

No response.

"Oh honestly!" the young witch huffed before letting herself in.

She was first struck by how dark it was; only a small group of candles in the corner were emitting light. The second thing she noticed was the object of her message, sitting in the middle of the small kitchen, surrounded by broken glass.

Tentatively she wandered over. She saw the shredded photo and the bottles and understood immediately.

"Remus…" she said lightly, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. He grabbed her hand tightly, as if it were the only thing keeping him lucid. It was wet with salty tears.

Amelia didn't say anything but sat down carefully next t him. They sat in silence for several minutes.

"Gone." He croaked suddenly. He cleared his throat. "All gone. He killed them. He—" Remus stopped talking abruptly, overcome by anger or grief, Amelia couldn't tell. She put her hand softly under his chin, lifting his head to look at her. His handsome face was streaked by tears, his eyes red.

She searched for the right words but couldn't seem to find them. She remembered when he had been the one reassuring her—the day her brother was killed, the day she joined the Order. She felt she needed to repay him.

"C'mon Remus, why don't we clean this up, hmm?" she asked, helping him to his feet. She vanished the glass on the floor and the bits of paper. She walked over to the fireplace and lit a fire which flooded the room with light.

* * *

They sat on the destroyed sofa together. Well, she sat; he lay with his knees drawn up, his head in her lap. She was absentmindedly running her hand through his hair.

He was watching the clock. 11:58, 11:59, 12:00. The most hellish day of the year was over, but the pain lingered. He was angry, sad— lonely. He didn't want to be lonely.

Amelia looked at the man before her, thinking how ironic it was that she was here now. She remembered back at Hogwarts, how her and her friends would watch the Marauders go by and how he was the one who had caught her eye.

Remus sat up, his brain buzzing. Amelia raised her eyebrow,

"What?"

He didn't answer, but leaned in close to her and softly pressed his lips against hers. She was surprised, but only for a moment. She kissed him back.

Their kisses became hungrier. Amelia was leaning against the arm of the sofa, one arm slung around his neck. He grabbed the hem of her T-shirt, working it up. Something clicked in her brain.

"Remus… we can't do this." She muttered.

"Why not?"

"We can't. We just can't." she said, pushing him off her. He gave her a confused look. "Oh come off it, you know exactly why. And for one thing, you're completely drunk."

Realization dawned on his face and he jumped up, banging into the coffee table.

"Shit. Amelia, I'm sorry. Amelia…" he trailed off. She gave him a pitiful sort of look and slipped quietly out the door. He seized a fistful of hair.

"You're a flippin' idiot, you know that Lupin?" he said to himself. "Maybe that's why you survived. You weren't smart enough to go and help someone. You're a sick beast."

The first hour of November 1st had proved to be no better than October 31st. Nothing had changed, life still sucked for the survivors.

**Questions? Comments? Concerns?**


	3. Marlene McKinnion

**I guess this could really be either of these two characters. Well, I choose Marlene :)**

**Marlene McKinnion.**

I was one of the first ones to find out what happened, did you know that?

I was already dozing off when Mad-Eye flooed me. Scared me he did, all he said was to get my arse over to your address as quick as possible.

I moved faster than I ever have Marlene, I had apparated before standing up fully.

The exterior was oddly quiet. The air was calm, no wind or precipitation of any kind.

There were only four of us who had been called. Caradoc, Mad-Eye, Dorcas and myself. We stood outside your cottage for a moment, no one moving. Dorcas was beside me, gripping my arm (so hard I was sure it would break) while taking deep, shaking breaths. Your cat slunk out of the house, leaping up onto the muggle car you never used. The Dark Mark above casted an eerie green glow on it.

Mad-Eye opened the door warily, wand raised high. We followed silently. We were all standing in your foyer for what seemed like years before anyone spoke. Those spoken words were instructions to split up and search.

I took the kitchen and hell, I wish I hadn't.

You were splayed across the counter like a slab of meat. Blood was trickling down your face, from your temple across the counter to the edge.

_drip._

_drip._

It dripped down onto the linoleum and filled the cracks a sick red river across the floor. Your face was hidden behind straight brown hair that was burnt in patches. Your arms and hands were burnt as well, in little lines that wound up them like ribbons.

I walked lightly over to you. You were on one knee, your other leg bent at an awkward, impossible angle. Your robes were ripped in various places, but not artistically like that set you had wanted to buy. Roughly. Viciously.

And when I went to grab you I caught a glimpse of that tattoo you had _insisted _on getting, the one of the phoenix soaring, right at the nape of your neck. I gave an audible gulp, using every fiber of my being to stay composed.

A sob from upstairs and I knew Dorcas found something, or someone. I heard heavy footsteps followed by ones that were limping.

I turned you over into my arms, lifting you gently. You're so light and cold. Your hair falls away from your face and I see more cuts and scratches all over it along with a particularly nasty lump below your eye. Gently, ever so gently I carry your into the living room when Dorcas is crouched on the floor, sobbing. She glimpses you and starts crying even harder, in great shuddering gasps as if she couldn't get any air.

Caradoc had just draped a white cloth over a small frail body I knew to be your Grandma Tess. She was so kind and sweet and you cared for her so well. I lay you down next to her, brushing one last stray hair from your face before draping a deep blue cloth over you.

Mad-Eye has sent a patronus to Dumbledore, letting him know of the tragedy. Then he sits down in an arm chair and shuts his eyes. Tears dribble down his face.

Dorcas is still sobbing and Caradoc is comforting her, crying softly as well. But I sit at your side, staring straight ahead keeping the promise I made two years ago as I fussed over the wound on your arm from your most recent fight.

_"I'm not the emotional type Gideon, you know that. So promise me, if I die that you won't shed a single tear." _

I kept my promise Marlene, I kept it. You just didn't keep yours.

_"I'm not the emotional type Gideon, you know that. So promise me, if I die that you won't shed a single tear." _

_"Marlene! Don't talk like that!"_

_"Don't worry, I'll promise you, I'm not going to be dying until I'm at least as old as Dumbledore!"_

**You know what to do.**


	4. Dorcas Medowes

**Dorcas Medowes.**

She was killed personally by Voldemort you know. There's a reason for that.

She was **strong** and _tough_ and oh so fearless. She was the epitome of a Gryffindor.

But she was a Ravenclaw.

She was **cunning** and _smart _and oh so quick.

He met her when he a eighteen, when he joined the Order. She was twenty-three.

She was standing there beside Mad-Eye, with a knowing little smirk on her face. Her dark hair was pulled into a complete mess atop her head. And unlike the wizard in robes next to her she had chosen to wear muggle clothes. Her jeans were ripped and her tank top was an obnoxiously bright green. Her wand hung from a rope around her neck, like a necklace.

"Right. Dumbledore's told me about you all. Said some of you were very, ah, full of yourselves. Is that right?" and the redhead in front of him stifled a giggle as the two dark haired boys replied.

"Yes sir." The short little boy and the curly haired one next to them couldn't contain themselves and burst out laughing.

It was like school all over again.

Mad-Eye sent a hex at them and they didn't react fast enough. Two of them were silenced.

"_Constant _vigilance! Goofing off is only going to get you killed. But if you're still sure of yourselves, why don't you come up and help me with a demonstration?" the Auror suggesting, his lips twitching at the corners.

Three out of four of the famed Marauders stood up, leaving the pretty redhead content to sit with the short blond boy.

"Good, _good,"_said Mad-Eye, "Medowes, if you would."

He had laughed when he saw only the girl step forward. She took her wand from the rope.

She was quick. Very, very quick. She had disarmed and placed a body bind curse on James before the other two had said a word.

Two versus one.

He shot hex at her that she blocked before sending a jinx at the other boy. He frowned.

The remaining two Marauders worked in conjunction with each other, backing her up toward where James lay.

She bent down and grabbed his wand, holding in her other hand.

They didn't know what hit them.

She twirled and shot spell after spell at them, using the two wands as if they were extensions of her arm. And with each beam of light her smile widened.

Remus tripped and fell down, **hard**, onto the ground. And then she was on him, both wands pointed at his face.

"I wouldn't want to mess up that pretty little face of yours Black."

He dropped his own wand and raised his hands in surrender with a scowl. He wasn't laughing anymore but she was. A twinkling laugh that made his heart pound.

**thump. thump. thump.**

* * *

She was gone.

No longer strong and tough. Or quick and cunning.

Cold. Inanimate. **Dead.**

It was nighttime when Voldemort came for her. She was at her flat alone, done up in the same outfit she wore when she first met **him**.

She taunted Voldemort. Taunted the Dark Lord. Taunted as he set an anti-apparation spell on the flat. She started to laugh as he fired a curse at her, and _missed. _She had laughed that tinkling laugh.

She never bothered sending a curse back at Voldemort. She knew that it was futile. She knew her own mortality.

She knew there was a reason Voldemort had come to kill her personally.

* * *

He froze when he heard the news. He refused to believe it. How could she be dead? She was the girl who had won, three on one.

To him, she was invincible. He always thought she was invincible.

And his heart was pounding with grief when he went to the funeral, when he saw her lying there.

Beating fast and irregular and drowned out by the tears that ran down his face in a torrent.

**I always thought she must have been a really great witch for Voldemort to bother with. In my head she's like a good, _sane_ Bellatrix. Sort of.**


	5. Sirius Black

**I've finally found my way back to this story- it's been on hiatus for quite sometime. **

* * *

**Sirius Black**

He was the first one to arrive- far before Hagrid and the aurors and the rest of the Order. No, he was there when Voldemort's wand was still warm to the touch and his best mate's bodies were still flushed with the color of life.

He wishes he could say he was stoic and brave and took care of the empty shells of his friends with respect. He wishes he could say how he soothed his godson's cries. He wishes for all of it.

But he does none of it.

No, Sirius Black entered the destroyed cottage, looked around quickly-

and fainted.

He doesn't stir until Hargid is there, nudging him, wondering vaguely if Voldemort had killed him too.

But Sirius wakes up, still uncomprehending and takes a look into the hallway once again. This time he vomits.

Hargid places a large comforting hand on his back, tears leaking into his beard.

"I know, I know"

Grief is a funny thing, the disgraced Black muses later while in Azkaban- ghosts of his past (and for his twenty-one years, he sure has plenty) wandering his cell.

Because on that night at the end of October, after he fainted, after he vomited, everything became horribly lucid.

"James is dead," he'd said. Hagrid had nodded as Sirius reached down, fixing his friend's glasses so they rested properly on his nose.

"Lily's gone," he'd said when he'd ventured upstairs. And once again, Hagrid had nodded as Sirius has pushed her pretty red hair out of her paling face.

But when he'd asked for Harry, Hagrid had shaken his head for the first time, insisting it was Dumbledore's orders. And deep down, Sirius knew it was true but on the surface, he was angry.

Because James and Lily were dead, he knew the traitor (he'd appointed the little fucker) and all he wanted was comfort in familiarity.

Even if it was from a one-year old.

Yes, he thought, grief was funny thing- but never a practical one.


End file.
